Page 127 of The Killer Cupcake
“Tunnel rats comin’ up for air, Sarge!” Ely yelled at Matteo, his voice cutting through the din, not a trace of fear in it. Only a fierce, focused joy. “Time for a little pest control!”
They worked in sync, a perfect, deadly dance. Crack.
Matteo’s shot. A shadow fell.
Thud-thud-thud.
Ely’s tracers walked a line across a spider hole, silencing it. They were winning. In that moment, drenched in sweat and rain and fear, they were Gods of war, holding back the chaos. He flashed a grin, teeth white in his grime-caked face. “Ain’t nothin’ but a th?—”
The world dissolved into a single, soundless flash of pure, white light. It came from the ground itself, two feet from Ely’s right boot—a buried Bouncing Betty.
The sound returned, a deafeningCRUMPthat was felt more than heard.
Matteo was thrown back, his ears ringing. He blinked through the haze of smoke and suspended dirt. Ely was on the ground. The bottom half of his legs were just… gone. The rest of him was tossed aside like a broken doll, his uniform smoking.
The firefight faded. The world shrank to the three yards of churned earth between them. Matteo was crawling fast, screaming, crying, but he couldn’t hear his own voice. He reached Ely, his hands scrambling, pressing against the unthinkable ruin of his torso, trying to stem a tide that was everywhere. The blood was hot. So hot. It soaked through his sleeves and his vest, leaving a sticky, warm residue.
Ely’s eyes were wide open, locked on his. Not afraid. Just… surprised. His mouth moved, forming a word Matteo would never hear but would forever see:“Sandy…tell…”
Then, the light behind those eyes just… went out. It didn’t fade. It snapped off. A switch was thrown.
A final, single mortar round landed twenty yards away, its shrapnel whining overhead, but Matteo didn’t flinch. He just knelt in the red mud, holding what was left of his best friend, the hot rain washing the blood down his arms in thin, pink rivers. Then they came. The Vietnamese soldiers had him, dragging him down into the hole… into the tunnel…. into hell.
A flash of light…
Matteo threw his arm up, shielding his eyes against an explosion that wasn't there. Electric light. Apartment light. Not jungle fire. He was on the floor of his Carroll Gardens apartment, screaming at ghosts.
His arm lowered slowly, vision swimming with tears he couldn't stop. His heart hammered against ribs that remembered other impacts. Ely's surprised face. The wet sounds from the tunnels where his squad died by degrees.
"Matteo." José's voice was carefully modulated. Standing clear of the grabbing range.
"Don't touch me!" The words ripped out, half-warning, half-plea.
"I'm done watching this." José's tone held finality. "Debbie, the kids—I'm taking them to California. Tonight. She'll die before she abandons you, so I'm choosing for her."
"No—she can't—they're fine—" Matteo tried to stand, knocking bottles aside, hands moving through garbage like he could find salvation in the debris. "Getting better. See? Cleaning up. Just need to get my head right?—"
"She knows about the whores, Matteo. The drinking's one thing, but the women?" José's voice held grief now. "You'redestroying her, and she won't save herself. Won't leave you. So I'm taking them. Sam has work for me in California. He loves your kids as if they were his own. We'll protect them."
"Nobody takes Debbie!" The rage mixed with panic, past bled into the present. "Those whores lied! Never touched them. Used them for a place to hide from Mr. Charlie. Never touch. Never. Debbie, my sweet Debbie. Only Debbie. But they're coming—can hear them digging in the walls—" He beat his fists against his temples, trying to separatethenfromnow. "Debbie's fine. I'm home. I can fix this."
His fists hammered his skull, trying to beat sense into scrambled synapses. "Home now. Safe. Fix it. Fix everything. Tomorrow. Fix Debbie tomorrow. Baby coming.”
He made it upright through pure will. José caught him, propped him against the wall, where he could pretend to be functional. And there were times when he was. Months could go by without a single trigger. He’d make the kids laugh, play cards with Jose, and coax Debbie into letting him into her bed. Then BAM, out of nowhere, he was on the ground, digging his way out of hell.
"Look at me." José's hands framed his face. "Really look. Your family loves who you were. Not this ghost. Not this violence waiting to happen. See yourself,hermano. Please."
Matteo's eyes focused, and with clarity came the breaking. Every defense crumbled. "I try." The words came out in a shredded voice between his sobs. "Jesus Christ, I try so hard, but it's all still happening. It never stopped happening!"
He collapsed into José, who held him as he shook through sobs. "Make it stop, José,! Whatever it takes, make it fucking stop!"
“Your brother. He’s offered to help. To send you out for help,” José tried to reason.
Matteo kept wailing in agony.
"Breathe, Matteo. Come on, breathe through it…brother,” José said.
That word. Always that word. Matteo mind convulsed—Back in the earth. Buried alive with the dying. His squad was reduced to meat and moans. Captain Minh crouching beside him, professional interest in his eyes, cigarette glowing in the dark.
